


Don't Look Back In Anger

by PeakyFookinBlinders (Sherlocked729)



Series: Bring Back The Sun [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Because Hawkeye, Bro hugs, But You Might Not Have To, Coffee, Depression, Dog pats, Gen, Guys helping Guys, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Rape Recovery, Steve Rogers Is A Better Bro, Stucky if you squint, Suicidal Thoughts, lots of coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked729/pseuds/PeakyFookinBlinders
Summary: It's been a month since Clint Barton's brutal attack and he's back in his apartment in Bed-Stuy, living with Tony with visits from Natasha and Bucky. He's still angry and so scared that he doesn't know what to do with himself. The thoughts he does have are bad, though. He knows he needs some help, but can he let the others help him, or will it be too late for him?
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Clint Barton & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanoff & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton & Bruce Banner & Tony Stark & Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark/James "Bucky" Barnes
Series: Bring Back The Sun [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799323
Kudos: 3





	Don't Look Back In Anger

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Bring Back The Sun. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am hard of hearing, but not completely deaf. I have taken a few ASL classes in college, and while I do know some ASL, I am making an effort to look up words and phrases that I'm not sure of, so please don't hold it against me if some of the ASL is incorrect. I promise I really am doing the best I can. 
> 
> Comments are SUPER appreciated and encouraged! Subscribe if you'd like to be notified when I update, and bookmark and give kudos if you like it :)

**. . .**

  
Clint looked down at the dog as it looked back up at him expectantly. He knelt down in front of Lucky and gently pressed his head against his, holding it there.

“What do you want, boy, huh?” He whispered to him. The dog licked his face before he backed up and then sat down. “Are you hungry?”

The dog wagged his tail excitedly, and the archer refilled his dog dish before also filling up his water bowl beside it and watched as Lucky started to eat. He felt guilt inside of him now. “I’m sorry, boy. I know I’m not a very good dog dad right now.”

The dog looked up at him for a moment before continuing to eat again.

_Of course Lucky was hungry… Clint had been in bed for two days straight with the blankets over his head, only getting up to use the bathroom. He really was a bad dog dad._

It was easy to forget that Bucky and Tony were also here sometimes. After a lot of talking a month ago, they decided it might be better if Tony stayed with Clint instead of all three of them together; Bucky still came to visit every other day though, to hang out with them and try to help keep Clint’s head on straight.

Tony nagged him to eat and get up and walk around some, even go outside for a walk, but unlike Natasha, he didn’t push the issue too much. He knew the man was still going through his own thing after being attacked and everything he was feeling was still fresh.

Clint decided since he was finally up again that he should probably bathe. He didn’t smell too bad, but he could feel the layer of grime on his skin. He walked to the bathroom and stripped off the sweatpants he had worn for two days onto the floor before he started to run the tub.

He took out his hearing aids and felt his chest tighten a bit as he thought about the attack, feeling his attackers rip out the other hearing aids out of his ear violently before making off with it. Clint couldn’t hear himself, but he took a deep breath to try and calm down, holding the sink with a white knuckle grip.

_They weren’t here._

_They couldn’t hurt him again._

He took another deep breath before letting it out, eventually feeling his heartrate even out again. When he felt okay, he slipped into the bath and lay down, letting the hot water relax his nerves before he began to wash himself.

After he had finished washing himself up and the bath was filled with bubbles, he saw Tony make a knocking motion on the door before he slowly opened it.

He glanced over at the sink, seeing Clint had his aids out, and moved a bit closer before he opened his mouth to speak.

_“You’re up!”_ Clint lip-read, seeing Tony looking excited as he said it to emphasize his enthusiasm about it.

Clint gave a nod and then sat upright in the tub before he pointed to himself, then held his hands palm up and turned them over, his fingers bent down a bit. Finally, he held his palms together flat before turning them over and simultaneously turning one of the hands to the side.

_I don’t want to be._

Tony nodded in understanding, feeling like he was getting better understanding Clint’s signing the longer he stayed in close quarters with him. He felt like maybe the archer was also sort of trying to teach him the language in a way at the same time, like it wasn’t just about Clint not wanting to put his hearing aids in, and keep them in.

Tony could understand that, though. He could understand just wanting to be in bed all day and the safety that it brought to him. He was free of obligations and he could let himself sink into that depression like a comfy blanket.

It was dangerous, he knew, but it was feeling that he could definitely relate to, although he wouldn’t tell anyone that. If he told Rogers that, the man would surely ground him from any and all missions until he saw a therapist or went on medication for it.

Tony pointed to himself before he moved his hand in almost a salute and tapped the side of his head twice, albeit slowly as he had to think about it.

_I know._

Then he hesitated before he started to spell out _c-o-f-f-e-e._

Clint had to smirk a bit at his friend’s inability to sign the one thing that the archer cherished the most. It was the thing that he felt kept him going. He put both his hands into fists, his thumbs pointing out a little, before he moved the top fist in a circular motion around the bottom one.

_Coffee._

Clint gave an eager nod before he shooed Tony out of the bathroom and started to drain the tub, getting out before he dried himself off with a towel.

He got changed into a shirt and boxers before he walked out into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Clint watched Tony as he poured a cup and gave it to him before he started to make breakfast. That was one thing he couldn’t stand; the other man’s _need_ to make him food and actually look after him to make sure he didn’t _die_ of starvation.

_Damn family._

He waited until Tony had set the plate of eggs and toast in front of him before he made a _thank you_ motion with his hand.

Tony gave a small smile and then looked slightly frustrated, but not with the archer. He tapped his ear; Clint knew that meant that he was being forced to put his aids back in. He gave a reluctant nod and then hurried to the bathroom and grabbed them.

He turned them down before he put them back in and turned them up again slowly until he could hear the sounds in the apartment and outside again. He returned to Tony and gave a meek smile.

“Sorry, I guess I still don’t feel totally comfortable having them in again. It’s so stupid, but I feel like… I don’t know, like, I can feel their fucking fingers ripping them out again, except on repeat, and I get so nervous,” Clint half-rambled, his eyes going to his coffee.

Tony took a sip of his own coffee before he rested his chin on his hands and shook his head. “Barton, that’s not stupid. It’s… completely understandable. You were attacked, brutally, might I add. I’d be more worried if you weren’t nervous or scared. Hell, god knows _I_ would be.”

Clint exhaled softly and nodded, a part of him feeling grateful that Stark hadn’t turned this into a joke like he did everything else when he became uncomfortable talking about feelings. He was quiet for a little bit, drinking his coffee and letting it warm his bones before feeling the need to continue talking.

He wasn’t sure how, but it helped to talk.

“I guess… I’m scared of it happening again. I’m actually afraid to leave this damn apartment, Stark, you know? They didn’t have time to scramble my brain or anything like they did the kid, but…” He trailed off, looking uneasy again.

“But they had time to do enough,” Tony finished for him, nodding. “It’s okay to talk about it, Barton… and it’s all right if you don’t want to, but… speaking from personal experience, I find it does help to… let it out.”

Clint smirked a bit and sighed as he leaned back in his chair, glancing over at Lucky who was now lying contently on the floor, sleeping peacefully.

“Did you feed him yesterday? I feel like maybe he shouldn’t be here with me, Stark. I’m so damn neglectful. He deserves somewhere better,” he spoke with sadness in his voice.

Tony gave a reassuring smile. “I’ve made sure to feed him when you haven’t. He’s not starving, by any means. He’s still getting fed and petted every day. You’re not neglectful, Clint. You’re depressed, and you have PTSD. You’re allowed to be a little… forgetful,” Tony offered, giving a shrug. “Anyway, I make sure to call either Nat or the kid when I’m not doing so hot either.”

“Good,” Clint remarked, feeling a bit better. “Thanks, Stark. God, what are we even doing living here together?” He chuckled weakly. “We’re both a bomb ready to explode.”

Tony also chuckled, taking another sip. “Don’t worry about that right now. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“Mm,” Clint mumbled. “Not hungry.”

Tony tilted his head to the side, looking at him. “You want to be a better dog daddy? You need to keep your energy up. You haven’t eaten anything in two days. You need to eat, now. You’ve got to be feeling lightheaded right about now.”

Clint was indeed feeling dizzy and lightheaded, but of course he wasn’t going to admit it. He _did_ want to be better for Lucky though, so he grabbed a piece of toast and took a bite out of it.

As he ate, Lucky woke up and wandered over to him before sitting down, looking longingly at the toast. This made the archer chuckle. “You’re kidding me, man,” he spoke to the dog. “You just ate half an hour ago. Fine… here you go, buddy.” Clint held out a small piece of his toast before he started to work on another.

“You spoil that dog…”

“Dogs deserve to be spoiled, Stark. Anyway, he’s my pizza dog. He’s been through a lot. He’s allowed to be spoiled,” Clint looked at Tony pointedly, remembering his words to him earlier.

“Valid point,” the other man agreed, finishing his coffee. “Oh, I meant to tell you, I’m heading over to the Tower after breakfast but Nat’s going to take over for me here.”

“You know I don’t need to be supervised constantly, Stark. I _am_ a grown ass man.”

Tony pretended to look shocked. “You’re an _ass_ man? I never would’ve guessed! In fact, I’m appalled, Barton. Totally inappropriate.”

This made Clint laughed again and he reached over to jokingly poke him, but his hand hit his own coffee and the hot liquid jumped and hit Tony, who gasped in surprise and a bit of initial pain as he shot up from the chair.

Something inside Clint fired up and his eyes grew wide at the sudden moment and he winced, turning away from Tony instinctively as he whimpered pathetically, his brain making him anticipate a violent outrage.

He knew it was silly, he knew that Tony would never intentionally hurt him for doing such a simple thing, but something switched on inside of Clint that made him think otherwise.

“Barton? Hey,” Tony soothed, slowly walking over to Clint but was hesitant to touch him. “Clint! It’s okay. It’s just me… it’s not a big deal, man. It’s just coffee. It can be cleaned up.”

Clint put his hands to his head and held it there, feeling tears in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean t-to spill it… oh god… shit, shit…”

Tony ran a hand through his hair before he hurried over to the paper towels and ripped some off before he dried himself off and then started on the table, unsure how to help him. “Barton, it’s all right. I promise… look, no harm done, right?”

Clint was still in it and the inventor didn’t know what to do, but luckily, it was at that time when he heard a knock at the door and then a bark coming from Lucky. He hurried over and opened it before stepping aside when he saw Natasha.

“You have impeccable timing,” he remarked.

“What? What’s going on, Stark?” she asked, concern in her voice as she walked further in and saw Clint in a panicked state.

“We were just playing around, and he accidentally spilled my coffee,” Tony explained, seeing the question in her eyes. “I think he’s having a flashback or something, but I-I don’t know what to do. This is out of my expertise. Usually _I’m_ the one flashing back.”

“It’s all right, Tony. Go ahead and head back to the Tower. I got this…”

He looked over at the archer worriedly. “You got this? I really am sorry.” Tony only knew how to _have_ flashbacks and panic attacks, and night terrors; he wasn’t familiar with how to actually _help_ himself, or help others that were suffering from them.

She gave him a small smile and nodded. “I got this,” she reassured him. “It’s fine, really. Go on.”

He took one last glance back at Clint before he guiltily left the apartment and fled towards his Tower. Natasha watched him leave and then grabbed a clean washcloth from the bathroom before wetting it down with cold water and then hurried over to Clint.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you hear me?” She searched his face. It wasn’t a question about having his hearing aids in, but it was about whether he was actually there with her mentally.

“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, turning away from her, his eyes closed as his hands trembled slightly. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to…”

“Look at me, Clint,” she whispered softly before she gently turned his face to look in her direction. “I need you to open your eyes and look at me, okay? Look at me, Clint. It’s okay… it’s all right. You’re safe. I’m right here, and you’re safe.”

A soothing tone that didn’t sound like Tony made him slowly open his eyes and look at her, and when he did, there was still fear laced in them as he looked around frantically. “S-Shit… shit.”

Natasha started to dab the washcloth on his left cheek, chin, right cheek, and then his forehead before she held it there. “It’s okay. You’re safe, Clint.”

He took a shaky breath, but relaxed as he felt the coldness of the cloth and closed his eyes again, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“W-Where’s Stark? Did he run? I can’t say I-I’d blame him…” he tried to joke weakly.

Natasha shook her head. “Shut up, Hawkeye,” she chuckled weakly, moving the washcloth to the back of his neck now. She felt him relax. “He’s only good at having panic attacks, not helping other people who have them too. He felt bad he didn’t know what to do, so… don’t hold it against him. He had to go to the Tower anyway.”

He gave a nod of understanding, leaning forward so she could still rest the cloth against the skin on his neck.

“I don’t k-know what happened. I knocked over his coffee and he stood up because, you know… it burned him, and… something just snapped in me and I went into panic mode. I don’t know what I thought he was going to do, though.”

She looked at him sympathetically even though she knew he wasn’t looking at her. “This sort of thing is going to happen, Clint,” she replied gently. “You were attacked, and he probably stood up too quickly or something, and it made your mind go back to that night. It’s a normal reaction given everything you’ve gone through.”

He sat upright now before he took a deep breath and let it out, shaking his head, feeling disappointed with himself. “It’s been a month.”

“So?”

He scoffed. “So, I should be over this shit by now.”

“Really? Who says?” She sat down in the other table, finishing cleaning up the mess on the table with the paper towels Tony had left there. “It’s been years and Stark’s still reeling from New York and Sokovia.”

“Yeah, well… he’s been through more, I guess,” Clint shrugged. “He has the right to still be suffering from it.”

She threw out the damp towels and then grabbed a cup of coffee before she sat back down and looked over at him with soft eyes. “This isn’t a contest of who’s had the worst trauma, Clint. You can’t measure your pain against someone else’s; it just doesn’t work that way.”

He took this in and gave a nod, but he wasn’t sure if he truly believed that it didn’t work that way after all. Clint felt like he didn’t have a right to act this way. He knew there were many women, and some men, out there who have been attacked worse than him, and he had tried to save them in time. Sometimes he had been able to, but other times, he arrived too late and the damage had already been done.

All he could do those times included taking them to a hospital and calling their chosen person. Now here he was, raped and beaten up, and terrified. Even after he went through it all, he still believed that there were people much worse off than him, and who gives a fuck honestly about what he went through when there were others who had gone through worse?

It was how he felt, and he partially wished that he hadn’t survived that night. He wished that they had just killed him right there in the street, because Clint Barton felt like his pain didn’t matter. He was angry and hurt, and _so fucking_ scared, but right now, he wished he were dead.

That would be better than the sheer, unadulterated fear that he felt now, and the sinking depression he’d been feeling ever since.

He just wanted it to be over.


End file.
